


Birthday Wishes

by Lost_Elf



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Birthday, Camping, Fluff, Happy Ending, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Miracles, Mountains, No Smut, Rhys has an owie, Short & Sweet, or I hope so, tiny little angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:13:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23084557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lost_Elf/pseuds/Lost_Elf
Summary: Rhys and his friends make a trip to mountains for his birthday. The impossible happens, and he meets none other than the man who had been invading his dreams for the past eight months.
Relationships: Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	Birthday Wishes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SparkyNomad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkyNomad/gifts).



> First off, this was meant to be a birthday gift. I'm so sorry I am late. Happy birthday, Sparky! <3
> 
> Second, this was meant to be fluff... I tried. I really did. I might have succeeded at making it sweet, but... Ah. Nope. Anyway, take this as a I Am Sorry For Jackentine's Day Miracle, Please Accept This Peace Offering.

“ _This party’s gonna be LIIIIIIT_ — _!!!_ ”

“ _Paaaartyyy!!!_ ”

“ _Let’s make this the best couple day of the year, guys!_ ”

“Wa-wa-wa-wa-wait a minute… Why is the cottage so small?”

All of the chanting and laughing young people stopped dead in their tracks. The cabin in front of them barely looked like it could hold all of them. A quick survey of the surroundings, however, revealed that this wasn’t the only building in the area. There were ten similar houses and one bigger, the words _Toilet_ and _Showers_ above its doors.

“Which one is supposed to be ours? None of them looks like it could hold seven beds…” Sasha scoffed and scowled at the small buildings. “Did we just get scammed?”

“No, I don’t think so…” August replied, scratching the back of his neck and frowning. “Well,” he said with a shrug, eventually, “that explains why I got four keys.”

Fiona was the first one to do something else than groan. “You got four keys for our cottage and didn’t think it’s weird? Just how stupid can you be?! Vaughn, why didn’t you keep an eye on him? I knew August is the worst guy to—”

“Hey! I’m right here!” the blond man growled, puffing out his chest, even though everybody knew that he would never hurt a woman and his attempt at intimidation was poor.

“Well, I’m glad that you can hear me saying that you just ruined—”

“Hey!”

Rhys’ voice was hardly ever strong enough to get him respect, but among his friends it never failed him. As soon as he called out, the bickering stopped. He gave all of his friends a reassuring smile so wide he felt his eyepatch cut into the skin of his cheek.

“Nobody ruined anything. We’ll just have to party on the outside and sleep in separate places. Drinking cheap alcohol by a campfire instead of a table is a win to me, anyway. What do you think?” He tipped the beer bottle in his hand in their direction, and when they cheered, he took a big gulp.

So what that they’ve started drinking as soon as they left the cable car? It was a birthday party in a cottage high in the mountains. They could do anything here!

“Let’s go change, Fi,” Sasha nudged her sister. “Dibs on the one closest to the showers, by the way!”

All the friends groaned and laughed, play-fighting for the best room, until all were taken except for one key. Vaughn was hesitant, looking almost remorseful, as he gave the key to Rhys. The birthday man would sleep alone, as Fiona was with Sasha, Elbie was with his girlfriend Gortys, and Vaughn surely wanted to be with August.

“I mean, I can share the room with you. Just like old times, at dorms… Two lone gentlemen…” He fidgeted, trying to hide his hesitance behind a laugh.

“It’s alright, bro,” Rhys smiled. “I’m not afraid to sleep alone or anything. You can be with August. Just… don’t be too loud.”

Laughing at his friend’s sputtering and blushing, Rhys took the keys and went to find his room. Although the remaining cottages looked unoccupied, his room was for some reason further from the others. It was within sight but not really close to the three cabins his friends took. But closer to the toilets. Yaaay!

A room with two beds, a small cabinet and a mini-fridge was all that fit into the cabin. The young man dropped his backpack on one of the beds and flopped down on the other. The sheets were white and smelled like the cheapest washing powder. But this was what he was excited for. As a city child, he’d never really went camping. But this weekend was just about him, and he chose to do this, and because he had the best friends in the entire universe, it quickly became reality.

“Rhyyyyyyys! Come oooooon, man!” someone shouted outside. “It’s time to paaaaaarty!”

“I’m coming!” he called back and chuckled. Quickly, he changed into some more comfortable clothes, put half of the alcohol from his bag into the fridge and took the rest out.

He found six figures sitting around a campfire. The wood was ready but nobody really bothered to lit the fire. It was probably for the best. Rhys’ birthday would be tomorrow, but heck if they aren’t gonna get wasted on both days. Open fire would not be a good idea.

Tomorrow. Sunday, the 4th of March. Rhys is turning a year older. It’s not even a nice number, it’s just that his birthdays are always celebrated in style. At least, ever since the accident that took his eye. It happened on his birthday, and so every birthday became a more than special occasion, making sure the day isn’t completely ruined for him.

Rhys wouldn’t hate the day just because he had an accident on it. Sure, losing an eye sucked, all the problems that came with that sucked, the inability to get replacement (at least a glass one) sucked. But he didn’t blame the day for what happened. It was an accident.

The only reason to hate the 4th of March was that it was the day when Handsome Jack died. Tomorrow, it will be exactly one year.

That ruined last year’s Rhys Day, and that’s why they are doing this crazy thing this year. One year ago, they all sat by the TV, Rhys shaking and definitely-not-crying, as they all watched the news talk about a big shootout. Handsome Jack, a famous actor and Rhys’ idol, died there, killed by accident by an FBI agent. But that bitch Lilith probably did it on purpose. The echonet was full of rumours of conflicts between that woman and the actor.

Rhys wasn’t sad now, remembering that awful day. He regretted all the pizza that got thrown into trash because nobody felt like eating after watching the news. But he was over it. Totally fine. It was in the past.

Except it wasn’t.

“Let’s play the game where we all say a truth!” Sasha suggested, never letting go of her cider. “Vaughn, you start!”

“I don’t get the game,” the bearded man shrugged. He was sitting on the grass, in front of August, who sat on a big log, and now half-laid there sprawled like it was his throne. (With a nice maiden between his legs. Rhys snickered at the thought.) “So, I say a truth and then what?”

“That’s all.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. That’s not a game! The point of a game is—” He didn’t get to finish the lecturing as August shoved a pretzel into his mouth and loudly shushed him. The shorter man gave him a glare, but he chewed silently and reached for more, the argument forgotten.

Fiona came up with an idea. “How about we either say a truth or a lie, and others guess what it was? If everyone believes your lie, everyone drinks. If someone says you lied but you didn’t, they drink.”

Few nods of the heads, and approving grunts, and they began to play. Vaughn's lie was easy to tell. Probably thanks to the influence of alcohol, he proudly stated that his dick is bigger than August’s. August called a lie, and Vaughn took a long sip of his fourth beer.

August said that his mother once tore his nose piercing off as a punishment, and Elbie and Gortys thought that he was lying. They drank.

“This is getting dark as fuck, guys,” Rhys rolled his eye. “Are you sure this is a party game?”

“Somebody’s a bad liar and is trying to avoid drinking,” Fiona teased him. “Stop whining! It’s your turn.”

Sighing, he searched his mind for something to use. The true count of his socks would be good, but all of his friends knew that he owns three hundred and ninety-five pairs. It’s a little hobby of his, to collect interesting socks. Maybe claiming that he has a pair that works like “foot bikini”? No, Fiona was there when she bought it.

“Okay,” he settled on something true. Vaughn knew about it, but he was busy fighting with a pack of crackers, so he wouldn’t snitch. “For the past eight months, there hasn’t been a single night where I wouldn’t talk to Handsome Jack in my dreams as if he was alive. And he acts like he is the one dreaming, not the other way around.”

“Bullshit,” Fiona was the first one to call. “I said that you are a bad liar.”

“I’m with Fi. Sorry, Rhys, but you really are terrible,” August agreed.

Sasha’s eyes turned into tiny slits as she contemplated Rhys, trying to look through him. Finally, she nodded. “I believe him,” she said. “He was always obsessed. This sounds right.”

It ended up being fifty-fifty. Elbie didn’t believe him either. Rhys smirked as he proudly said that it was a truth.

It was Fiona’s turn next, and Rhys guessed wrong, so he took a sip of his beer. But he spat it out in the next second. It was the one he carried when they arrived. Now it was warm and disgusting, because he let it sit for hours in the sun. He wasn’t in the mood for drinking, just enjoying his friends (and their drunkenness).

The foul taste woke up some melancholy deep inside him, and he made a spontaneous decision as he poured the bottle empty. “I’ll call it a night. I don’t feel well, probably still sick from the ride. I’ll party properly tomorrow.” With that promise, he left his friends to play their game and headed to his cabin.

It was a little stupid to call it a night, as the sun was still visible. He probably had another two hours. Everybody was so drunk that they didn’t even notice the blunt lie.

It wasn’t that Rhys was sad, or sick of his friends, or anything, really. He just felt like breathing some fresh air and being alone for a while. And so, he changed his course and walked past the cabin.

Turning back, he made sure nobody sees where he is going, and he walked further into the forest. Not far enough to get lost, but far. Away. Just what he needed today.

Not even two hundred metres from the camping area, Rhys found a rocky clearing and a wall made to be climbed. He was no professional, but if Rhys had ever seen a rock cliff perfect for climbing, it was this piece of rock. He sat under it, the beautiful view of the mountain range around them left behind his back as he stared at the wall. It wasn’t high. Maybe he should try it.

_“You should see the mountains, kiddo! I love them!” Jack_ would say to him in his dreams. _“The air is good for my Angel. She is recovering fast. And the sun! It would do good to your pale ass.”_

_“You love my pale ass!”_ Rhys would joke.

At first, the dreams were weird, and they hurt. It was like reopening a wound. Rhys would tell Jack that he is, in fact, dead, and Jack would sneer at him, telling him that he is alive, and some stupid dream has no right to claim otherwise.

After two weeks of that, Rhys realised that the dreams won’t stop coming back, and Jack in the dreams seemed to realise that he can’t get rid of the boy. They made peace and decided to make use of the time together. Jack admitted that he gets lonely in the mountains, and Rhys just wanted to be friends with the idol. Rhys couldn’t control the dream – the place they met in, or anything else. But he could think clearly, and so he told Jack about his day. The dream man seemed interested in his programming job, and Rhys supposed that it means he subconsciously wants to talk to people about his job more. And so, they talked.

In turn, Jack told him about the life as a celebrity. He told him about the mansions he used to have, the cars, a private jet. The movie studio he bought – Hyperion. He talked about his favourite parts of his movies (he really seemed to like talking about himself). They talked a lot.

Then one night, the room they met in had a bed. It was like the furniture was taunting them. _Fuck it_ , thought Rhys. _It’s my dream; I can fuck my idol._

_“Screw this,”_ said Jack. _“I’m not too old for wet dreams.”_

No matter what places they met in on the oncoming nights, it always ended with the best sex Rhys ever had. But after a few weeks, they’ve gone back to mostly talking, only occasionally making out.

_“I think there is a reason I’m dreaming up the same random guy every night, you know,”_ Jack said. _“I think I needed someone to talk to, someone new. So, I dreamed up the perfect person.”_

_“If this is how it works, my subconsciousness is trying to stroke my ego. I feel like a jerk when my idol keeps saying this in my dreams!”_

_“Perfect little fanboy,”_ Jack would mutter. _“I wish I could show you the mountains.”_

One night, Jack said a name of a place, and as Rhys was just deciding where to go for the trip, he thought that it was his mind’s top tip, that it was probably one of the many places he looked at on the echonet, and so he chose this location and had August book the ubications.

Here he is. And the sun is just high enough for him to climb the wall and get back before it’s too dark.

Standing up, Rhys reconsidered his decision one last time. He is not drunk – he hadn’t been drinking for hours now. He doesn’t need two eyes to climb a rock. And he goddamn _wants_ to do it. Hell, he is doing this!

Adrenaline coursed through his body as he pulled himself up. His feet found purchase in some cracks in the wall, and he slowly raised. When he was a meter above the ground, he dared to look down. It made him hesitate a little – even one meter looked like a lot – but the cliff couldn’t be higher than four meters, and the fall wouldn’t be dangerous if he slipped. And Jack mentioned rock-climbing in his dreams. Maybe Rhys always wanted to try this.

His arms grow weaker and weaker, and he would have to take a ten minute break when he gets up there, but he keeps climbing until his hand touches the high grass on the top of the ledge and he can pull himself up.

Grunting, Rhys lays on his back and laughs. He lets out a quiet woo-hoo, celebrating his victory over the rock. The sun keeps him warm, golden rays touching his ankles, arms and belly where his clothes got rucked up.

“What the fuck?!”

Rhys shot up so quickly he almost stumbled back, and nausea took over from both the danger of the fall and the movement. His vision got blurry and he wobbled around, unable to focus. When he got his shit together, he finally noticed something he missed before. A minor detail anyone would miss, really.

The big-ass mansion right in front of him.

It was the huge and luxurious kind you only see on social media pictures. Crystal-clear glass walls, allowing the stunning view of the mountain range to be seen from the comfort of a cosy living room. A swimming pool and a jacuzzi bath. Wooden tables and chairs in the patio, heavy curtains shielding people from insects and breeze.

Among the luxury sat two people – a man and a little girl – drinking orange juice from crystal glasses and eating watermelon cut to little cubes. They both were looking at Rhys with guard, clearly not used to random boys climbing into their backyard.

The man leaned to the girl and whispered something, sending her away. He stood up and walked towards the intruder, anger and guard mixing in his handsome face.

Rhys gasped in shock just as the man came close enough for him to recognise the face that he knew all too well, even though there now was a big scar distorting it. At the same time, the man stopped and gazed back at him with the same kind of shock, muttering _what the fuck_ again.

“Oh no,” Rhys was the first one to speak. “I fell from the cliff and now I’m in a coma. I’m sleeping; tell me that I’m just sleeping! Did I die there?” he looked back to the cliff, trembling at the thought. How can he be dreaming right now? He didn’t go to bed. Why is Jack here?

“Fuck, kitten, you look different today,” Jack muttered, eyes fixed on the left side of his face. “Costume party? You a pirate?”

He doesn’t have time for this. “I’m always wearing this, Jack!” he retorted, cautiously walking back to the cliff. He was sure he would see his dead body on the ground if he looked over, but when he did so, he didn’t see anything, just a rocky platform bathed in golden light.

“Well, I guess I always wanted to show you the mountains,” Jack nonchalantly noted behind him. “Here you are! How’d you like the view?”

“Not now, Jack!” the younger man groaned. “I can’t be dead! Maybe I fell and hit my head. I don’t remember a fall. Or did I fall asleep when I arrived? Or in the cable? Why are you here?!”

“I must’ve fallen asleep in the patio again,” Jack answered calmly. “Stop panicking.” He paused, looking between Rhys and the cliff. “Wait, did you climb that with this on your face?” he gestured towards the eye patch.

“I always have that!” Rhys growled again. “Can you stop being so calm? What if I’m dead like you?!”

“You aren’t dead, and neither am I.” Jack rolled his eyes. He focused on Rhys’ face again, walking closer. “Maybe this is a nightmare?” he asked himself. “My special boy getting hurt. Sounds like a nightmare to me…”

Feeling self-conscious under the studying gaze (Jack never paid attention to his eye, except for the first few occasions), the younger man took a step back. “And what’s with _your_ face, anyway?” he shot back.

“What do you mean?” Jack stopped and reached up to touch the U-shaped scar. “Duh. I thought that you don’t see this one in the dreams. Weird.”

“Can you, for one minute, stop pretending that you are the real person and I’m the dream?!” His patience ran out, and Rhys screamed in frustration. Jack didn’t even flinch, unimpressed. Bastard.

“I could say the same!” he rolled his eyes. “I’ve never had reoccurring dreams; I’ve even stopped having nightmares after I and Angel moved here, and then BAM! Every night for eight months, I dream about this twig! And he keeps telling me that I’m dead. I mean, I get it. Everybody believes that bitch killed me, but why the boy in my head?”

“What do you mean?” Rhys took another small step back, confused and scared, because, obviously, there was just no way…

“I’ve even had Timmy look you up on the net the other day. Rhys Strongfork exists, and he is a data-miner, slash programmer at Atlas. And he looks like you. How do I keep dreaming about a real person I’ve never met?”

To be fair, they _did_ meet once.

Rhys was so excited to go to the convention. He was running late for the photoshoot, though. He paid a lot of money for a shot with the actor, so he ran as fast as he could to reach the area before he would leave. Jack was just walking out of the room where the photoshoot was happening, and Rhys didn’t see him. He ran into him and they smashed heads. The actor laughed it off when he saw Rhys, probably because it hurt the youngster much more than him.

He isn’t bringing that up now, no. But… “When you are in my mind, why don’t you know that we met on that convention three years ago?” he asked suspiciously.

“I meet hundreds of people on every convention, pumpkin,” Jack condescended. “It’s possible that I’ve seen your face, and that’s why you are here. Doesn’t explain everything, but— Hey, _stop_!”

Rhys was continuously backing away, trying to find a way out of the dream. He didn’t notice that he is getting closer and closer to the cliff until Jack reached out and pulled him forward by his shirt so harshly that they both fell back in the grass.

Jack grunted and Rhys definitely didn’t squeak. They rolled off each other, both slightly panting.

“Do you want to die, idiot?!” Jack chastised him. Then he noticed blood on his forearm, probably from landing on something sharp in the grass. “Shit…”

Assessing the damage on his own body, Rhys found out that he also received some cuts and a to-be ugly bruise on his shoulder. The blood-drop rolling down his palm felt like a mockery – he never got hurt in his dreams. Not like that, at least.

“I never get hurt in my dreams,” he said quietly, eyes still fixed on the blood.

“Well, you apparently do in mine…”

“Jack!” Groaning, he shot a glare to the actor. “You are _dead_ , and this is _my_ dream, and there is no reason for me to be—!”

“For fuck’s sake, I’m _not_ dead, asshat! I _faked_ my own death to get some damn-well-deserved peace!”

They stared at each other. Jack was daring him to say something else, but Rhys didn’t know what. The thought entered his mind and settled there, unwilling to leave. What if…

“What do you mean _faked your own death_?” he asks, trying to smother the spark of hope that was making him more uncomfortable than happy.

Hesitantly, Jack told him a short explanation. Lilith shot at him, and the bullet hit some machinery in the building where the shootout happened. It exploded and killed a lot of people, but not Jack. He was wounded but saved by his friends. Many of the bodies weren’t identified, and Jack was assumed to be dead. His daughter was put in his brother’s care.

“Me, Timmy and Angel moved here. Tim drives her down to school in the closest town every day while I recover. Her illness is gone, too.”

Rhys vaguely knew about Timothy Lawrence and Angel Lawrence, but the story… Not even the craziest of fan theories… Sure, some people claimed that… But…

“Hey! You can’t faint now!” Jack stood up and effortlessly pulled Rhys to his feet, supporting him with one strong arm that Rhys learned to know in the past months well. “Let’s get you in, huh?”

He let Jack lead him through the backyard, the patio and through glass door into the house as he processed the information. He felt his knees hit something soft and sat down on the most comfortable sofa he ever sat on.

“This is weird,” Jack muttered. “We never do things like this in the dreams…”

“I’m beginning to think that it’s real…” Rhys’ voice is barely a whisper, but it hits them both like he shouted. It’s like by saying it, it actually became real.

As if there weren’t enough signs, the little girl Rhys saw previously came into the living room. There were never other people in the dreams. She was wearing pyjamas with unicorns and rainbows, and clutching a big stuffed unicorn. “I brushed my teeth, daddy,” she said sheepishly. “Will you read me a bedtime story?”

“Not today, sweetheart,” Jack turned to her. “I… I’ve got a guest, here. Can you go to bed on your own tonight, like a big girl?”

“Okay,” she smiled, her face turning serious in the childish way, like Jack gave her an important task. “Good night, daddy!”

When the kid was gone, Jack turned back to the man on the sofa. Rhys was visibly shaking, still shocked from almost falling off the cliff, rolling in the grass with a man that shouldn’t be alive, and then realising that he probably isn’t dreaming, but what is it if not a dream?!

“Okay, this is weird, but let’s stay calm and do the logical thing… I’ll get some disinfectant for your hands. You just… sit here and don’t faint.”

Jack left Rhys alone for couple minutes, but the young man only noticed when he came back. He watched him clean the small cuts and put bandages in a few places. When Jack was done with patching him up, he patted his knee reassuringly and smiled. “Feeling better, champ?”

Rhys shook his head dumbly.

“Anything a cup of hot cocoa wouldn’t fix?”

There are probably a lot of things even hot cocoa wouldn’t fix right now, but Jack didn’t wait for an answer and left, coming back soon with two cups. He sat next to Rhys, carefully putting one cup in his hands, and then he put a throw blanket on his shoulders to help with all the shaking.

Another day, Jack might have been asking himself why is he caring for a strange boy that climbed on his property. But not today, because this Rhys wasn’t a stranger to him. They’ve known each other for eight months, after all. Without another doubting thought, he pulled Rhys closer, letting him rest his head on his shoulder.

“So, the boy from my dreams is real…” he said.

“You are not dead.”

“And you don’t have a glow-y blue eye.”

Blinking, Rhys turned slightly to look at Jack. For a second, he was stunned by how real and beautiful the heterochromatic eyes looked. And the scar. It was ugly, but it didn’t make Jack ugly. He was still Handsome.

“What do you mean?” he finally asked. “What blue eye?”

“Well, when I saw you in my dreams, you always had one brown and one blue eye. The left one shined and glowed, occasionally. Freaky. But cool.”

“Oh.” Not knowing what else to say, Rhys snuggled up to Jack again, the warm mug in his hand forgotten.

After a few more minutes, even Jack gives up on his hot cocoa and places both mugs on the coffee table in front of them. He clears his throat, as if it wasn’t obvious that he’d been thinking about something, and turns to Rhys, who’s almost dozing off at that point but shakes himself awake when he sees Jack’s serious face. The scar adds an almost scary edge to it, but it disappears when he looks in those eyes he’d been staring into every night.

“What now?” Jack asks simply when he gets Rhys’ attention. “I mean, I’m very happy to have you here, happy that you are a living being and I’m not crazy, but… You’re a programmer on the other side of the country, your friends are probably waiting for you in the camp…”

For a second, Rhys gets irrationally freaked out. How could Jack know about them? But then he remembers that he’d been excitedly ranting about this trip for the past week; of course Jack knows.

“I’m happy that you are real too,” he says at first, because it felt stupid to just ignore that comment. Then he feels even more stupid, but Jack, thankfully, doesn’t tease him about it. He watches him with a guarded expression, waiting for something, and Rhys feels like his whole future depends on what he says next. So, of course he says something stupid and starts rambling.

“My friends think I’m asleep and they’ll be too drunk by now to realise otherwise. And I can quit my job. Find a different one. Well, of course, only if you want me to. Or I should probably wait a little, right? I’m thinking too far ahead, you probably don’t even, oh my God, what did I just say, that was stupid, I—”

With a light-hearted chuckle, Jack puts a finger over his mouth. “You are going to give yourself a heart attack if you don’t calm down, kitten.” He’s probably right – Rhys was panicking way more than was understandable in that situation. The pet name helps too, bringing a bit of familiarity from their dreams into the situation that suddenly feels too unreal.

“How ‘bout this,” Jack says, moving his finger to the younger man’s jaw, cradling his face with one hand. “You spend the night here, and in the morning, I show you a safe way back to the campsite. I’ll give you my phone number, and when you get back home, sober up from your party and think it all over, you’ll give me a ring, and we can… sort things out.” His small hesitance bears a heavy question. _Are there even any things happening?_

_After eight months of seeing each other every night, can there not be any things?_ Rhys wants to answer, but he decides to nod and smile instead. “Yeah… Yeah, that sounds… That sounds perfect!” His smile slowly morphs into a dopey grin, and that’s when Jack leans over and kisses him.

It’s not much different from the kisses they exchanged in their… whatever the dreams were. Rhys’ lips are soft and bruise easily, quickly turning red and puffy wherever Jack nibbles. Jack’s are less pliant, hardened close to the scar, and hot. So warm. Part of the heat travels down Rhys’ body, settling in his crotch, but he pushes all thoughts like this away. Jack is right, they both need to think.

As they part, Rhys’ body betrays him in another way, and his stomach lets out a low rumble. He frowns at it, silently scolding his stupid organs.

“Had any dinner?” Jack asks, obviously having noticed the sound.

“No, but I ate a lot of pretzels, chips and some cookies. Party food…”

Jack makes a face, something hinting disgust. “That’s not food,” he says and stands up. “Come on, get up. I’ll make you something quick and warm.”

And so, Rhys watches the not-dead actor, the legend who killed approximately ten point seven billions of people in all his movies, fucked twelve of the most famous actresses (some of them probably even in reality), strangled his own dog in two separate award-winning movies and saved the whole planet in eighteen, cook him a quick risotto. (Rhys hereby swears that he didn’t spend the whole night memorising this statistic so he could flex among other fans.)

Jack moves around the kitchen with the same certainty and confidence he showed in his theatre roles and his live conventions. Rhys didn’t know that cooking could be sexy, but Jack’s self-assured movements brought the heat back into his belly and lower. And from Jack’s amused, smug smirk, he was sure that his inner conflicted state is showing.

As he eats the best meal he ever had (or perhaps it’s only good because he mostly eats takeout and microwave meals), Jack watches him with a thoughtful gaze, chin resting in his hand. He’s leaning on the kitchen counter, a picture that could as well be a poster that Rhys would put up in his bedroom to stare at and dream. He occasionally forgets to eat, preoccupied with stealing short glances at the chef. Jack doesn’t seem to notice, too deep in thought.

“What am I gonna do with you?” he asks, finally coming to sit next to Rhys.

“You knew pretty well what to do with me last Tuesday,” the younger man notes and immediately blushes and regrets ever learning to speak. Not only that he mentioned their surreal make-out session out loud, but the fact that he remembers on what day exactly it happened…

“Sometimes I wonder if you are really such a dork, or just good at pretending,” Jack laughs.

“I really am that stupid.”

Rhys would like to get back to his meal, but the plate is empty. Jack takes the plate away and because Rhys is almost falling asleep, tired from the long, uncomfortable ride to the mountains, the climb and ride in cable car that looked like it could fall at any moment (which was probably just his fear speaking), and the other climb, and finding out that his idol and the man from his dreams is alive… He deserves a good night of sleep.

Jack leads him to a guest room and prepares the bed for him while Rhys takes a quick shower to wash out all the dirt and dust that he collected during and after his climb. He walks out of the bathroom wearing only his boxers, not expecting Jack to still be there, and he blushes while Jack openly stares at his tattooed chest.

It’s probably for the best that he won’t have to go looking for Jack through the house, but as he is standing in front of him like this, he can’t find his words anyway. Every time he opens his mouth, he blushes harder, until his face turns from coy embarrassment to visible discomfort, and Jack shakes his head, apologising and on his way out before Rhys can even blink.

“W-wait, Jack, wait!” he calls after him, forcing himself to gather courage. This has always been hard, with his friends and family, with strange people, anybody, but here with Jack he feels super stupid for this one thing that needs settling before he can be left alone.

“I, I just, I need something for the eye,” he stammers out finally, gesturing to the left side of his face. “A big band-aid, bandage, gauze or sterile cloth, anything, I just… I need to keep it covered during the night, and the eyepatch always slips off.” He can’t even bring himself to look up, face burning in shame. Maybe he should have found his way back to the camp and not stay for dinner. That was not his Idea of the Year.

“You are saying it like it’s something bad,” Jack notes. He’s probably trying for nonchalant, but his voice is strained, hiding some emotion. Rhys can name ten thousand possible negative things Jack could be feeling right now and no positive.

“Hold on, I’ll fetch something.”

Jack is back within a minute, holding exactly what Rhys needs. His one eyebrow is raised, eyes fixed on the eyepatch, curiosity obvious. “Can I help you?” he asks, gesturing towards it.

Jack could’ve as well kicked Rhys in the stomach. He shakes his head and cautiously backs off. “You don’t understand,” he manages to say rather calmly. “I don’t have an eye. It’s not— It’s not something you’d want to see.”

The actor’s face turns unimpressed. “I’ve seen worse,” he assures him. “I’ve seen my face, for God’s sake. Split open by an explosion.” He seems to recoil a little when he realises that he sounds angry and is invading Rhys’ personal space even though they agreed not to. “Sorry,” he mumbles and scratches the back of his neck. “I guess dying does this to people. You don’t need to show me, just know that I won’t ever judge you for what’s under that patch. It might not be a freaky, glow-y blue eye, but it’s part of you.”

Rhys feels his chest clench with the force of an unknown emotion. He nods silently, unable to say anything, and finally takes the gauze and band aid from Jack and disappears in the bathroom to put it in place of his patch. When he comes back, Jack is still there, now sitting on his bed and picking at a loose thread in a comforter.

“I was thinking,” he says before Rhys can even begin to feel awkward, still in his underwear. “If we meet in a dream tonight, it’s gonna be so weird. But I hope I won’t stop seeing you when you leave.”

It was weirdly tender, given how cold Jack’s presentation always was on conventions and in interviews. Charming but untouchable. Even in the first weeks of the dreams, he’d come off as a heartless prick, trying to shoo the young programmer away. Later, he would warm up, and Rhys would assure himself that that’s his fantasy drawing the actor’s character further from reality. Now, in reality, there was no mistaking the bashfulness and hesitance.

Rhys doesn’t have the capacity to think about his and Jack’s future, if there is to be any, not after all that happened today, and so he gives him just a sheepish smile and walks to the bed. Jack springs to his feet like he only now realised that he was there. “I should probably go,” he says. “Good night, pumpkin.” And then, as if they did this every night, he walks over to Rhys and kisses him.

Rhys’ sleep is light, and he wakes up occasionally as wind hits the mansion’s walls, something not so prominent in the city, but he still fits in one short dream. Jack is not there, though, it’s just his old flat, the one he shared with Vaughn before August moved in and Rhys moved out. He barely walks to the other side of the living room where the door to his bedroom is before he wakes up again.

In the morning, he is actually well-rested, even though he thinks he shouldn’t be. He puts on his clothes, tries to put his hair in order, puts on the eyepatch and walks to the kitchen. He takes a few wrong turns on his way there but doesn’t get lost, guided by the sound of two men and a girl chatting and laughing.

It feels inappropriate to walk in on a family having breakfast, but there’s not much else he can do. He needs to get back to the camp before his friends begin to panic.

As Rhys walks into the kitchen, all heads turn to him. Jack smirks, Angel looks a little unsure, looking up at her father for guidance, and Timothy Lawrence, whom Rhys recognises from media, mumbles a “holy fu—” before he is hit in the face by a waffle.

“Hey!” Jack frowns. “No swearing in front of the kid!”

Tim doesn’t seem too bothered by the fact that he was hit in the face, merely adding the waffle to his plate while still staring at Rhys. “I mean hi,” he corrects himself. “I guess you are… Rhys Strongfork?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” His hand comes to scratch the back of his neck again. “I, uhm, Jack? I should probably get back to the camp before my friends sober up enough to realise I’m gone.”

“Yeah… Not before breakfast, though.”

After they eat homemade waffles with fresh fruit, Jack drives Rhys back to the camp. There is no proper road connected to the mansion, just a dirt track, but his SUV doesn’t have a problem slowly taking them there. Maybe it wouldn’t even have to go as slow, but Rhys is glad that Jack isn’t rushing it. The wet warmth of Jack’s lips is still present on his, pulling his mind back to the goodnight kiss.

“Here we are,” the former actor says all too soon. “You can walk from here. I could drive you, but that would probably be hard to explain, if someone saw us.”

“Yeah, it would,” Rhys agrees. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do. He wishes for one more kiss, maybe a promise that this is not all some crazy dream. As if reading his mind, Jack pulls something out of the breast pocket of his shirt and presses it into Rhys’ hands.

“Call me when you get home and think this all over, okay?”

Rhys is grinning like a mad man as he finally walks into the camp, his lips tingling not from being stretched but from their parting kiss. His friends are just getting up with grunts and curses, heads aching and stomachs turning.

“Hope you are ready for a real party, guys, cause the Rhys Day is here!” he screams as loud as he can, enjoying their resentful expressions.

* * *

They sure did party a lot. Rhys got properly wasted on his birthday, and it even projected into his dream, amusing Jack to no end. They travelled back to the Helios City, and Rhys spent another twelve hours sleeping off his travelling sickness and fatigue.

When Monday rolls around, Rhys gets himself ready for work, because that’s the logical thing to do. The piece of paper with Jack’s phone number is sitting on his kitchen counter, as if asking him _Is it the time now? Or now?_

He keeps pushing it away, telling himself that he shouldn’t, that it’s too good, and he should get back to his job and stop pretending that calling that number will bring him his life purpose or something. He’s one step outside when he turns back, walks to the kitchen with determination and calls the number before he can regret it.

It rings two times, and then Rhys is greeted by a wary voice. “Who’s there?”

Biting his lips, Rhys throws away his last chance to back off. “It’s Rhys. I was wondering how’s your morning?” Smooth.

“Well, hello there, pumpkin…”

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ElfWriting).


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